Goliath Finnigan-Thomas and the Fountain of Fair Fortune
by theimaginaryslimshady
Summary: The year is 2021 and all is not well. At the height of the worst recession magical Britain has ever seen, rumors begin to fly about a magical fountain that could grant incredible wealth. When 11-year-old Goliath decides to find it for his fathers, he finds that the riddles he says when unconscious mean more than he could imagine - at least, according to the divination teacher.


CHAPTER ONE  
THE WOMAN WHO DIDN'T EXIST

The day Delilah Bishop died was a dark, cold day.

It was one of those despicable November days that remained stubbornly mild no matter how many calendars considered it winter, with the sun beaming just above the reach of the brittle wind. Delilah was hopelessly underdressed, clad only in a silky pink undershirt and jeans; a sweater and a jacket were swathed in her arms, hoisted in a bundle to her chest. The cold sunk into her bones through the pair of puncture marks on her neck, and her skin was so pale she might as well be bloodless.

The road was harsh gravel against the arches of her bare feet, but she plowed on, wincing only when she began to bleed. Her thin face was lined and hard; more than once, she had to blow dark bangs out of her eyes to keep track of where she was going.

Finally, she turned a corner from the gravel road onto a smooth paved one, reading the sign _Godric's Hollow_ with trembling bones and a sigh of relief.

Almost there. She was almost there.

It was lucky that none of the hollow's residents were paying attention to the street, for if they'd been looking, they may have questioned the numerous bruises and cuts on the woman's skin; failing that, at least one of them would have noticed the thick brown wand sticking out of her back pocket. Luckily, the only people anywhere near the street were a ginger toddler and her father, playing in their yard with a stick and some bugs.

The walk down the street was almost more than Delilah could take; her legs shook more with each step, and her face had, impossibly, gone even paler. Despite her shivers, she continued to clutch her outer clothes in a ball, held tightly to her breast. Finally, when she made it almost completely down the street, she turned to step onto the sidewalk, coming to a resolute stop in front of the house. The tiny girl shrieked with laughter as the stick she held burst out in red sparks, and the black-haired man beamed at her, looking entirely unconcerned that his wand was in the hand of an overenthusiastic 3-year-old.

"Excuse me," Delilah breathed, voice rough. The black-haired man looked up with a smile in his emerald eyes, but it faded into concern as his eyes darted over the yellowing harshness of her skin. "You're…magical, aren't you?"

The man's face went blank, his mouth a thin line. "Yes," he said stiffly, eyeing the bundle of clothes in her arm, which had begun to shake slightly. "Do you need something?"

Delilah laughed without humor and, in one sweeping motion, gesture to the puncture marks on her neck.

The man stood immediately, working his wand out of his daughter's hand. "Lily, go get Mummy," he told the girl, who waddled towards the house just as Delilah's knees buckled; the man made it to her just in time to catch her as she fell, laying her gently on her back, brushing hair away from her neck to more closely examine the marks. "Vampire," he muttered, falling back on his training without even a moment to consider. "How long ago – "

"Over a day," she rasped. When he tried to examine the wound more closely, she weakly shoved him off, hissing, "Don't bother. I'm not here for me."

He blinked, squinting at her over his glasses. "Then why - ?"

Breathlessly, she let her bundle of clothes unfurl. The man's breath caught.

At the center of the clothing pile was a tiny, dark skinned baby.

"His name – " She started, voice trembling as she struggled to sit up, and he gently touched her shoulder to keep her in place, because even if there was no hope it should be _comfortable_ no hope. "His first name," she insisted, clearly a strain, "is David, and his m-middle name is Elton." She swallowed, gently caressing the baby's forehead. Against the clammy cold of her fingers, the baby twitched in his sleep, sniffling; her bloodless pallor next to his brown skin seemed an almost impossible contrast. "He was b-born on June first. I needed to…" She swallowed. "I needed to make sure he would be sent to a wizarding orphanage. I…I didn't want…raised by Muggles…"

"I understand," the man cajoled gently, breaking her shaky grip to pick the child up himself; David Elton sniffed but didn't wake. "Stay with me, now. What's your name?"

"My…" she began, voice a question, when a red-haired woman almost identical to her daughter came storming down the yard, expression full of concern. "Harry!" she shouted, striding toward him.

Delilah glanced between Harry and the woman, uncomprehending. "You're…?" she whispered.

He hesitated only a moment before pushing his bangs up his forehead, proudly displaying his famous lightning scar.

She stared for a moment before letting her head fall against the ground, eyes closing as she whispered, "I'm so sorry."

That was…generally not the response he got. "For what?" he asked gently; his wife finally made it to the two of them, crouching low just in time for the baby to open its eyes.

"For bothering you," Delilah breathed, and within ten minutes she was dead.

+x+

Hermione Weasley, at the time in the middle of transferring between the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, checked with her colleagues and reported that the picture of the woman didn't match any registered witch in the Ministry of Magic. Fleur Weasley called in some favors with her coworkers and asserted that, no, the French Ministry had never registered the woman, and according to Ginny's (and the Holyhead Harpies') number one fan Anita Narvaez, neither had the _Cortes Magia_. Ollivander's exuberant apprentice Darrius assured them that her wand had not been from his shop, but neither had it been from Gregorovitch or any other wandmaker Harry knew of. For all intents and purposes, the woman who had just collapsed on his doorstep didn't exist.

This didn't mean much except that Harry had to go through a lot more paperwork than he would've liked. Ginny, being a loving, wonderful wife, was absolutely in support of him through these troubled times. Ginny, also being a full-time Quidditch player with a temper as vibrant as her hair, was going to go mad if she had to care for four kids at once for one more day. Which she had enumerated before. Multiple times.

Still, no time like the present.

"Quidditch gear off the table," Harry said without looking up from his paperwork as Ginny slapped her knee guards onto the spotless counter.

The redhead rolled her eyes and let the guards slide back into her hands, knocking against her thighs as she walked over to lean on his chair. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of her sweat – it was _training season_, she didn't know what he'd been expecting – but carried on with his work, pausing every now and then to push up his glasses where they'd fallen down his nose. "Who's giving you all these papers?" she asked, staring in fascination at the one he discarded, the title of which seemed to be written in hieroglyphs.

"Percy," Harry sighed, pausing to rub the bridge of his nose where a migraine was starting to develop. "He's convinced the whole thing's some sort of assassination attempt and he's trying to test the baby for jinxes."

Ginny snorted, tossing her wild hair over her shoulder. "It'd be a bit useless now, since we've both had constant contact with the kid for days now."

Harry managed a weary smile, and Ginny leaned slightly over the chair, casually reaching out to rub her husband's shoulder with her free hand. "You should take a break," she suggested as he relaxed into her grip. "You're all tense."

"And you're not?" he snorted. He couldn't quite keep the smile off his face as she leaned in to kiss his cheek, patting his shoulder fondly where she'd rubbed it before retreating from his touch and waltzing out of the room – probably to the drawing room, where she stored her Quidditch gear on a shelf. Harry sighed and slouched in his seat, staring at the forms that had started to look the same about an hour ago.

"You know who we should call up?" Ginny called from down the hall as she stowed her supplies. Harry grimaced and put down his pen, resigned to getting no work done while she was in the house. "Dean and Seamus. They've been talking about adopting for _ages_ now."

"Is now really the appropriate time?" Harry frowned as Ginny reentered the room, clad in the standard outfit for professional players beneath their training clothes – running tights, black skintight shorts, and a black undershirt, all aerodynamically sound. Ginny had taken violent advantage of the unspecified parameters of the tights and had Hermione charm them to constantly change colors. "A woman just died. Isn't it a bit rude to just foist the situation on them?"

"Harry," Ginny sighed, shaking her head fondly as she grabbed a seat across from him, the tranquility of the dining room interrupted by her sheer presence, "no offense, but you're an oblivious arse. Have you even heard them talking? They'd do _anything_ to have a kid. The sooner, the better. Anyway, wouldn't it be more of an insult to the woman's memory if we put off the adoption – which was, need I remind you, her dying wish?"

"I doubt that's what she had in mind," Harry snorted before slouching in his chair, trading teasing smirks with her. "Would that even be legal?"

"Adoption by gay people has been legal for _six years_, Harry."

"But they're not married!"

"_It's legal_," Ginny insisted, leaning forward so that her hair hung around her face. "At the very least, there's no harm in asking."

Harry hesitated, glancing down at the stacks that still awaited him. It _would_ mean less paperwork…

"Fine," he relented, ignoring Ginny's cheeky grin of triumph. "We'll ask them. But if they say no, then _that's that_, alright?"

"Harry," Ginny hummed, face warped beautifully by success, "there isn't a chance in the world they'll say no."

+x+

"I hate when you're right," Harry muttered petulantly.

Ginny grinned the type of grin you could fall in love with as they led Dean and Seamus into the entrance room, watching the pair out of the corner of their eyes just in case Seamus tried magic and accidentally set something on fire. Such as it was, the worst that happened was Dean elbowing his boyfriend in the ribs after the blonde had whispered something that made Dean's ears go pink.

Unofficially, Dean and Seamus had been in love for going on 20 years, but as far as their actual relationship went they'd only gotten together when Harry had vanquished Lord Voldemort and Seamus had kissed Dean in the heat of the moment. Their fourteen year anniversary had just passed a month or two ago, actually. The celebration had consisted of about nineteen bottles of wine and a lot of activity that Hermione would've disapproved of. Harry would remember it fondly for years to come.

"So!" Dean cleared his throat, scuffing his shoes against the glimmering wood floor of the Potters' entrance room. His ears were still pink, and he firmly kept his eyes on anything but his boyfriend. "How've you two been?"

"Just brilliant," Ginny hummed, nudging Harry with a wink, gesturing between Dean and Seamus. Harry rolled his eyes.

"How's Aberforth?" he asked, diverting the subject from whatever sexual thing Ginny was about to imply.

At the mention of the pub owner, Seamus' eyes practically lit up. "Yer not gonna believe this," he grinned, Irish accent somehow strengthening as he leaned in, eyes bright. "Aberforth's decided to retire. Says as long as he gets to stay with us, we can take over the Hog's Head, move inta the flat above it. Signin' the paperwork tonight."

"That's great!" Harry said, lips twitching into a smile until a shadowed frown swept across his face. "Will you have room for a baby, though?"

"If we have to, we'll expand," Dean said firmly. "And speaking of the baby, can we see him?"

Harry almost jumped at the realization that they hadn't moved from the entrance room yet. "Right," he asserted, ignoring Ginny's muffled giggle behind him. "Yeah. Just, uh, try to be quiet – Lily's down for a nap, and when she wakes up she never goes back to sleep." With that, he turned and led them across the dining room and into the sitting room, where Al's old stained crib was set up against the back wall.

The moment he set eyes on the crib, Dean seemed to become completely oblivious to the world around him. He made a beeline for the blue bedding, leaning over the bars, eyes riveted to the small figure who stared back with dark, curious eyes. "He's been quiet all week," Ginny reported as Seamus walked over to stand next to his boyfriend, looking a little dazed. "It's been the weirdest thing."

Harry crossed his arms and leaned casually against the wall, watching the pair of transfixed men with a fond smile. Ginny mouthed _I told you so_ at him, and he stuck his tongue out in reply. "He looks Middle Eastern," Dean piped up all of a sudden. "Do you have any way of knowing…?"

"His mother was white," Ginny said calmly, "but we have no idea about his father. We think he's mixed race."

"David," Dean muttered. The baby made a tiny cooing noise and reached up to swipe at Dean's nose. "He's pretty big. More like a Goliath than a David," the man muttered, reaching forward to let the toddler grasp Dean's pinky in his hand.

"Goliath Finnigan," Seamus grinned. "I like it."

"I think you pronounced 'Goliath Thomas' wrong," Dean said calmly, exchanging a long, secret look with Seamus as both of their eyes tightened. Goliath cooed again and Dean's attention was once again diverted as the baby wiggled upwards in his crib, eyes such a dark brown they were almost black.

"When can we do the paperwork?" Seamus looked up, the sudden pinkness of his face somehow a poignant background against his freckles, eyes slightly glazed.

Harry grinned and led his friend to the dining room, where the papers for adoption had been lain out at Ginny's request.

Goliath pulled onwards, knowing that things were new, that everything was about to change for him. There was no way he could've known that he was extraordinary – just as extraordinary as all those before, just as those who would come after – but with the adoring of his almost-father above him, he must have known, somehow, that he was special, at least in the eyes of the two people that mattered. For now, the world was beyond his grasp. And though no one whispered his name as a spearhead of rebellion – though he held no title, though he had done nothing – in that one moment, perhaps, all was well.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

A few quick comments before we get any further.

1. This story is absolutely, 100% canon compliant. That being said, a lot of canon is left _extremely_ open to interpretation. I have taken this and run with it. At this point in the planning/writing process, I have written down information about every single wizarding school in the world, wizarding culture in different continents, and am starting on the different magical governments in different countries. In addition to the political and cultural aspects of the wizarding world, I've also documented the futures of every single Hogwarts student from Harry's time period. Many of these ideas will be mentioned within the story. If at any point you would like to learn the state about anything in the wizarding world in this version of canon, _do not hesitate to contact me_. I'm actually really excited about all the information I've come up with and would love to talk about it!

2. I intend for this to be a series. This may or may not work out. Rest assured, however, that there are plans for any overarching plotline, so overanalyze away!

3. This story deals very heavily with themes of oppression, including transphobia, homophobia, racism, government representation, etc. Some of these are explicitly lain out; many are told through metaphor. If any of these themes trigger or bother you in any way, then please proceed with caution. On that note, if I ever accidentally write something that is offensive, _please let me know_ and I will fix it. Fanfiction is great that way.

4. My writing style is very dissimilar to J.K. Rowling's, but out of respect for this being a canon continuation I have attempted to imitate her. This combined with my utter lack of summary-writing skill mean that this story is probably not going to be read by very many people. Rest assured, I am a-okay with that; this does, however, make any constructive criticism or commentary you give that much more valuable, so though I'm not begging you to review or anything, I'd like to express how much the opportunity to hear from you and improve means to me. I sound really pretentious, but I swear I'm just a nerd who likes to write. Drop me a line and I'll definitely take your opinion into consideration.

Thank you for reading!


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